


No Resolution

by quercus



Series: No Resolution [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-03-01
Updated: 1999-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 18:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quercus/pseuds/quercus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder and Scully investigate an abduction near Washington, DC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Resolution

"I was picking up my nephew from school to take him to my mom's. We had the radio cranked up kinda loud, so I didn't really hear anything. But T.D. saw this light, off to the right, through the trees. It was a funny color, kinda orange. It seemed to be following us, keeping along side. We come out of the woods and it was still there. I was scared, man." The speaker shakes his head in embarrassment. "We could see underneath it, you know? The bottom was orange, too, but shiny, like a mirror."

"Reflective? It looked metallic, not like a ball of fire?" Scully asks, hoping none of the police officers milling around are paying attention.

"No, it looked hard. And it was big, too. Five, six times bigger'n my car." They both look at the scorched Grand Am, blocked off by a large rectangle of yellow police tape. "It cut across the road ahead of us. I stopped the car and then started backing up, but it went over our heads, right over us." He points straight up and Scully follows his gesture, even though there's nothing above them now.

"What happened next?" she asks after a moment of silence.

He shrugs. "Only Jesus would know, ma'am. I and my nephew were still in the car, just sitting. The car is a great car, I mean, that engine rocks, but it just sat there. Then there was another light, bigger, and the light over us started coming down. I thought it was gonna land on the top of the car, so I grabbed T.D. and we hauled ass back down the road. But he's a little guy and can't run very good and fell down. I saw her then, that girl. She come outta the light. I saw her, ma'am. She just walked right outta the light. T.D. seen her, too."

Scully nods and looks over to where Mulder is talking to the nephew. He's sharing sunflower seeds with the eight-year-old boy, who's sitting on the hood of Mulder's car. Mulder still looms over him, even boosted to that height, so Mulder has crouched over the hood, arms resting on it, so their heads are at the same height.

"Where's T.D.'s mother?" she asks.

"Run off. She never much liked it here in Gum Springs." Scully can sympathize with that.

"What do you mean, there was another, bigger light?"

"It was over us, too. After that girl come out, the light went back up and into the bigger light."

"What shape was the light?"

He closes his eyes and sighs. "Oh, ma'am, I dunno. Round. Not a circle, longer."

"An oval?"

"Yeah. I guess." He looks at his nephew, who's laughing at some joke of Mulder's. "Is T.D. okay?"

Scully follows his gaze. "Yes. He'll be fine. Just watch out for any nightmares. Be there for him." The uncle nods but doesn't answer, nor take his eyes off the boy.

* * *

Mulder and Scully lean in silence against Mulder's car, squinting against the brilliant sun. Around them swirl the local police and sheriff's deputies. T.D. and his uncle have been taken to a nearby hospital. There's no sign of the woman both had described as emerging from the light. Rubbing his forehead, Mulder says, "Why are we here, Scully?"

She doesn't look at him, just crosses her arms and sighs. Shaking her head, she says, "Mulder. Last night you get me out of my bed before I'd fallen asleep and drag me to this wide spot in the road, talking non-stop about mysterious lights in the sky. Why I would come with you, I don't know, but here I am. No lights. Just a greasy breakfast and a fistful of Rolaids, and the drive back to DC interrupted by a call from a police sergeant who saw you on Jerry Springer and wants you to investigate an x-file.

"I give up, Mulder. Why are we here?"

"He saw me at a MUFON conference."

"Whatever. So why *are* we here?"

He rolls his head back; she can hear a tiny click as his vertebrae shift. He too sighs deeply, and puts his hands in his jeans pockets. "I just want to *see*, Scully. Just once. With you by my side. I want *us* to see. To know. Finally. Irrevocably. Utterly."

"Even if we saw, Mulder, whatever we saw -- lights, little grey men, people floating through walls -- it wouldn't prove anything. For me, at least. We might be drugged. Hallucinating. Suffering a folie a deux. Dreaming. Remember that philosopher who realized he couldn't tell if he was sitting in a chair by a fire or simply dreaming that he was sitting in a chair by a fire? That's us, Mulder. We can never know if we know. The epistemological boundaries of our ways of knowing won't permit it."

"I refuse to accept that, Scully. That was Descartes, and he finally decided he *could* know, remember: cogito ergo sum. We can know; *you* can know. It's your decision."

"It's your decision. It's always been your decision. To decide something is to perform something, and it's the performance of deciding that constructs reality. There's no externality to the decision or the performance."

He looks at her sharply. "What's that mean?" She continues to stare at the ground. "Scully. What do you mean?"

"I don't know, Mulder. I just don't feel I have control of this anymore."

"Control of what?" But she doesn't answer, and he doesn't ask again. They remain standing in the sun, silent again.

* * *

"Down! Down! Down!" someone keeps shouting. Scully slides along the side of the cop car, keeping her head below its silhouette. She can feel Mulder at her back, but never takes her eyes off the scene in front of her. City police and county sheriff's vehicles are pulled up in a haphazard semicircle around the burnt Grand Am; a news helicopter hovers noisily overhead, the downwash kicking up dust and leaves. It's painfully bright. A wish for sunglasses crosses her mind and she brings one hand up to her eyes, to shield them from the debris and glare.

The light has returned. Exactly as T.D. and his uncle had described it. It floats or hovers or drifts, silent, incandescent, hot. Her face feels sunburned by whatever's emanating from the enormous gleaming sphere; she hopes it isn't ionizing radiation. She hopes she isn't going to die.

Behind the Grand Am stands a single figure, unmoving. Scully finds it almost impossible to make out details, but she believes it's a woman. She cautiously raises her head above the hood of the car, peering against the light. To her shock, she hears her name, not shouted but spoken calmly. Somehow, the word carries through the tumult of walkie-talkies, radio static, car and helicopter engines. She turns her head toward Mulder, who is looking at her with horror. He reaches out for her but she stands and slowly walks toward the light.

The noise around her fades as she draws closer to the figure. She's aware of the cacophony, but it seems to come from an enormous distance, and has nothing to do with her. It's as though she's slowly gliding through a long corridor the color and texture of an eggshell. The burning light fades and she sees a middle-aged woman standing at the end, waiting for her. "Dana," she calls, "Dana." She puts out her hands and Scully takes them.

"Do I know you?"

"Don't you remember, Dana? We met on the ship."

* * *

Mulder's sunglasses aren't nearly dark enough to cut through the light bursting from the car that Scully is striding briskly towards. He screams her name but she never turns, never pauses. He tries to start after her, but Sgt. Washington from the local police seizes him. Since he outweighs Mulder by a good hundred pounds, Mulder can only watch as Scully disappears into the light.

Every weapon in the county seems to be pointed at the car and women. Mulder is so afraid for his partner; he feels almost disembodied by his fear. He's physically in one place, but his soul has just vanished into some mysterious burning.

Suddenly, there's an explosion, a soundless explosion of light -- and then there's only white silence. Mulder thinks that his eardrums may have been ruptured and his retinas burnt. Sgt. Washington's hands fall away, the world falls away, and Mulder is floating in some Nordic afterlife of silent snowy absolution.

After a lifetime of empty pain, he returns to himself. The helicopter is gone, the radios silent. Beyond the afterimages of grey and yellow circles, he sees the two dozen or so officers around him rubbing their eyes. He turns to see Sgt. Washington with his hands over his hears and a deep frown creasing his face. Their eyes meet and Mulder sees Washington's mouth move, but he can't hear the words.

Mulder cranks his head around and realizes that only the car sits diagonally across the road. "Scully!" he roars, but he can't hear himself. At that instant there's another silent explosion of light, and again Mulder feels adrift, cut off from himself and the others he knows surround him. In this white vacuum he can neither speak nor breathe, and is forced to wait, to hope.

Then he feels Scully's hands on his upper arms and her breath against his throat as she shakes him. "Mulder! Please, Mulder, wake up!" He opens his eyes cautiously, to learn that the world has returned to its former self. He can hear and see again and, over Scully's head, watches as four or five officers march a single middle-aged, frightened-looking woman toward a patrol car. The woman is staring at Scully, pleading with her eyes, but Scully looks only at him.

He drops his head and kisses her hair in relief. She puts her arms around his shoulders, as high as she can reach, and they stand embracing in the once-more noisy confusion of a hot afternoon.

* * *

To Mulder's shock, he hears Skinner's voice, raised in a thunderous shout, bellowing his name. "Goddammit, Mulder! Where the hell are you! Mulder!"

Mulder rushes into the hospital's lobby, where he finds Skinner glowering terrifically at the admitting staff. "Where the hell have you been? Why haven't you answered your cell phone?"

Mulder can't remember ever seeing Skinner this close to fury, and it almost frightens him. He approaches him cautiously and takes his arm. Skinner shakes him off, then takes *his* arm and marches him back the way he came until he finds a quiet corner. He pushes him into it and stares expectantly at him.

"I, my phone doesn't work anymore. I'm not sure that any of the phones work anymore. There was a light -- " but he has to stop here, remembering what he's seen.

In a softer voice, Skinner asks, "Where's Scully?"

Mulder nods toward the emergency room. "Being checked out. You heard what happened."

"That there was a serious disruption in communication. That contact was lost for almost two hours. That a woman -- appeared."

"Connie. She's been released to the police. I should talk to her, but I've been waiting for Scully." Skinner nods at this, and takes a deep breath.

"Did you experience this, this loss of contact, Mulder?"

Mulder looks into Skinner's eyes and wonders what he sees there. He remembers very little of what happened, just the inability to communicate, the absence of physical sensations, the profound sense of loss. He swallows and nods.

"I'd like to see Scully." The two men continue to stare at each other and then Mulder leads the way to Scully's cubicle.

She's sitting on an examining table, talking intently to a young East Indian doctor who's unobtrusively checking out her legs. Skinner's presence stops that, and the doctor steps briskly away. "Hello, sir," Scully gives him a small smile. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"When the locals lost contact with you and the police at the site, they called me. What happened, Agent Scully?"

Scully looks at Mulder, who takes her hand, but says nothing. After a long silence, Mulder answers for her. "There was a light, an enormous light. I couldn't see or hear, and then Scully walked into the light. Then --" he shakes his head.

Skinner studies his two agents. They're still holding hands, staring at the floor. Both look slightly sunburned and he can smell them over the antiseptic of the hospital. He sighs heavily. "When will you be discharged?"

Scully hops off the table. "Right now. Let's get outta here." To Skinner's amusement, she suddenly seems charged with energy as she pulls on her shoes, clutching at Mulder for balance. "Come *on*." The two men follow her obediently.

* * *

Connie sits in a wooden chair that rocks on uneven legs. She doesn't look up when the three federal agents enter the interrogation room, but when Sgt. Washington introduces them, she slowly tips her head back. At the sight of Mulder she begins screaming, a high-pitched sound that speaks to Scully of brain damage. She screams and screams, sending the room's occupants into an almost Keystone Kops frenzy of activity. Above her screams, Scully shouts, "Get out! Everybody out!"

The men obediently exit, happy to leave the hysterical woman in Scully's care. Skinner and Mulder go last, looking worriedly back at her. She shakes her head sharply and they shut the door behind them. Equally abruptly, Connie stops screaming. She wipes her eyes and with trembling hands tries to pick up a bottle of water. Scully helps her.

When she's finished drinking, she finally looks at Scully. "What happened, Connie? What frightened you?"

"He did. The dark one. I saw them on the ship."

"Which one?"

"The one who wouldn't leave."

"What do you mean, he was on the ship?"

"No, *they* were on the ship. Lots of him. I don't like him; they scare me."

Scully sighs, trying to grasp the significance of what's been said. She must mean Mulder, but how could there be more of him? "I'll be right back, Connie."

* * *

"She's afraid of you, Mulder. She says she saw you on the ship; that she saw lots of you on the ship."

Skinner and Mulder stare at her as if she'd been speaking in tongues, their faces creased in identical frowns. Finally, Skinner says, "Explain yourself, Agent Scully."

"I can't. I'm simply repeating what she said. That Mulder was on the ship and that there were lots of him there."

Mulder shakes his head in dismay. "Clones," he murmurs, earning a sharp look from Skinner, but Scully takes his hand. "I don't know what to do, Scully. What if it's true? What if they cloned me?"

The three agents stand in silence for a moment, then Skinner slips a hand onto Mulder's shoulder. "Go back in, Scully," he instructs. "Begin the interrogation. Find out what's happened to that woman." She nods, squeezes Mulder's hand, and returns to where Connie's waiting.

* * *

Mulder steps out the back entrance of the police station, breathing with relief the fresher air, pleased to be outside despite the heat and humidity and strong scent of garbage. It's night again. He's been up for almost thirty-six hours now. His diurnal clock is so far off, he'd thought it was late afternoon until he'd stepped outside.

He hears something to his left and looks that way. A skunk or raccoon digging through the dumpsters? Then he hears his name whispered. He steps nearer to the edge of the loading dock, then backtracks to the stairs and walks around to the dumpster. "Mulder," he hears again, and a body slams into his, shoving him against the rusticated brick of the police station. He recognizes the voice, the green eyes glowing in the reflected street light. He's too exhausted to move or fight, nor does he want to.

"Why are you here?" But Alex Krycek doesn't answer, just continues to stare into his eyes. Mulder studies the face so near his own. He no longer knows how he feels toward his former partner; he doesn't know what to believe about him or his behavior. It occurs to him that he should punch or slap him; certainly, he's struck Krycek before and enjoyed the sensation. But he's so tired, beyond tired. There are other, more comfortable ways to achieve the same goal: skin on skin. He slowly brings his hand up to Krycek's face, palm toward him, then curls his fingers enough to touch him. At the first contact, Krycek closes his eyes and inhales; when he opens his eyes again, his mouth opens very slightly.

"Mulder," he whispers and now Mulder closes his eyes. The two men stand breathing each other's breath, Mulder slowly, blindly tracing the contours of Krycek's delicate features. He feels Krycek's hand slide from his left hip to the small of his back and press him closer. He obligingly tilts his pelvis and moans at the sensation of Krycek's erection pressed against his. Then Krycek kisses him.

Mulder's mouth opens widely as he fills with Krycek. He tastes like Dentyne and coffee. His tongue strokes Mulder's and he gently bites it. Mulder's hips seem to be rocking of their own accord and Krycek presses back.

Suddenly the back door opens and he hears Scully call his name. Krycek covers Mulder's mouth with his hand, but Mulder has no desire for Scully to find him here, like this. He stares into Krycek's eyes and licks the palm of his hand. Krycek moves his hand so it now drapes Mulder's shoulder; they both turn toward Scully and lean their faces against each other, silent in their complicity.

Scully takes a deep breath and raises both hands to the sky, stretching her back. She puts them on her hips and leans slightly backwards; Mulder can hear her vertebrae popping. Then Skinner joins her, also taking a deep breath, rolling his head back to look at the sky. "Not here?" She shakes her head, takes another deep breath, and they go back inside the cop shop, carefully shutting the door behind them.

The two men continue to stand silently together, Mulder gently rubbing his face against Krycek's, enjoying the sensation of stubble against his own. "Alex," he whispers.

"Is Scully all right?"

"What?" Mulder stops moving, surprised by the question.

"I know what's going on, that's why I'm here. Mulder, Fox, it's all happening. Scully's in danger."

"You're here because of *Scully*?"

Krycek laughs shortly. "Jesus, Mulder, buy a clue, would you? I'm here because of *you*, and you're here because of Scully, okay?"

But Mulder just kisses him and wonders why it's taken him so long. I really *should* have bought a clue, he thinks before dissolving in the sensation of physical affection he so longs for yet so often denies himself. Finally, Krycek pulls away.

"We have to talk. I'll come to your room tonight."

"Scully will hear."

"We can be quiet." He grins at this and Mulder drops his eyes, blushing in the dark. Krycek kisses him again, and then once last time before moving back into the shadows. Mulder rubs his hand across his face, inhaling deeply as if he could smell Krycek's unique aroma, but there's nothing. No trace.

* * *

Connie sits in a wooden chair that tilts on its uneven legs whenever she leans forward to pick up the bottle of water that Scully has brought her. Her discomfort at telling her story is revealed in her body language and in the long pauses she takes, sometimes in the middle of her sentences. She rarely meets Scully's eyes and has never once looked at Mulder. She doesn't respond to his questions but waits for Scully to rephrase them. Mulder stands by the door, as far away from her as he can get and still be in the same room, and lets Scully handle the interrogation.

Connie pauses and the silence stretches on. Her short blonde hair falls around her face as she lowers her head, staring at the scuffed and streaked linoleum. After a few minutes, it becomes apparent that she isn't going to speak again. Scully sighs and looks at Mulder, who opens the door and steps out, looking back at her. She follows.

Once the door is shut behind them, she leans against it and looks up into Mulder's drawn face. He looks haggard from exhaustion, with circles under his bloodshot eyes. His beautiful mouth is downturned with some emotion she can't immediately identify. She knows she doesn't look any better, and scoops her hair back from her face, wishing it were long enough to pull into a ponytail. She sighs heavily.

"I don't know, Scully," Mulder says in response to her look. "The abduction portion of her story rings true."

"Mulder, we've had this conversation before. It's a generic abduction story; that why it rings true. What she tells us is, in my opinion, irrelevant; we need to examine the forensic evidence." Mulder moves to her side and slumps back against the wall, dropping his head back with a thump and closing his eyes.

"I'm so tired, Scully. I wish I could sleep." She takes his hand and they stand in the filthy police station. After a moment, he opens his eyes and looks at her. "What happened to you, Scully? Where did you go?"

She shakes her head. He gently tugs on her hand and she reluctantly meets his eyes. "I don't know, Mulder. I don't remember."

A large black officer walks toward them; his name tag reads Sgt. Ross Washington. He's the one who'd called Mulder when they'd been on their way back to DC. Scully likes him. He'd been calm and collected during the chaos earlier that day, no, by now the prior day, and she respects that ability. She's been involved in enough take-downs to know how rare it is. He slows as he approaches them and then leans against the wall across from them, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, y'all need to go back to that motel and get some sleep. AD Skinner's already gone. You can't help us when you're falling asleep on your feet." Mulder shakes his head without bothering to lift it from where it rests against the wall, but Scully pulls on his hand.

"Ross is right, Mulder. Connie isn't going to tell us anything else tonight. Let's get some rest, try again tomorrow." He closes his eyes in a type of protest, but finally pushes away from the wall. "I'll drive," she adds, and he smiles in agreement.

"Good night, Ross." The two men raise their hands and tap their fists at shoulder height, a gesture that makes Scully laugh and shake her head.

"You mean 'good morning,'" Washington says to their backs as they head down the ill-lit hallway, back into the main area. They hear him unlock the door to the interrogation room and speak gently to Connie.

Only a few people are in at this hour, so they aren't stopped for questioning. No reporters on the sidewalk in front, so they can get to their car without cameras flashing in their faces.

"I've just got to wash my hair," Scully announces when she pulls into the parking lot of the motel, "and you really need a shower."

"You're such a romantic," Mulder tells her as they separate into their rooms.

Thirty minutes later he's lying on her bed wearing weathered blue jeans and a gray tee shirt and she's sitting in a chair, feet propped on the bed, drying her hair with a towel. Mulder's brought small bags of junk food and has opened them all. A kind of offering.

"No, thanks," Scully declines the Chee-tos; "I try not to eat fluorescent foods." Mulder munches while Scully combs her hair, feathering it with her fingers. She's gone without sleep for so long that she's on some kind of exhaustion high; she feels light-headed yet focused, aware of every sound and movement around her, yet swathed in cotton. Mulder's presence simultaneously soothes and stimulates her. She closes her eyes experimentally; she can still see him, right through her eyelids.

She hears the plastic bags crumpling and opens her eyes to find Mulder gathering them together. "I thought you were asleep."

"I feel as though I'll never sleep again," she answers honestly, and he nods unsmilingly before going to his own room.

* * *

Now he's waiting for Krycek. Sitting on his bed, pacing the floor, clicking through the few channels available, reviewing the case files, standing and staring at the door. It's almost morning, but he can't slow down. Finally there's a soft scratch at the door, and he pulls it open. No one there. He puts his head out and sees a slight movement near his car. He grabs his keys and opens the car door. The overhead light has been turned off, but he can see Krycek slumped down in the passenger seat.

"Coffee?" The question astounds him, but he accepts the proffered cardboard cup and sips gratefully. "It's decaf," Krycek assures him. He rolls his head back into the seat, half-amused, half-exasperated. They sit in silence for a few moments, drinking coffee and observing each other.

Then Krycek reaches to him and takes the cup, placing it carefully in the cupholder in the door. He hooks his hand around Mulder's neck and gently tugs. Mulder follows, grateful that he's made the first gesture, and leans closer to him. They lie back, heads together, smiling at each other. Mulder feels breathless, almost giddy, and brushes his lips across Krycek's hand. Krycek scoots closer and they begin to kiss.

Mulder's heart seems to kick in his chest, and his ears are buzzing. Krycek's mouth is moist and warm and absolutely delicious; he can't breathe but refuses to pull away. Finally, he starts to laugh softly, while Krycek continues to kiss his jaw and throat, to bite his earlobe and slip his tongue into his ear. He's laughing as well, but asks, "What? What?"

"Did you know that frequent kissing strengthens your immune system?"

"Jesus, Mulder, shut up." They continue laughing and kissing, but slowly the laughter ebbs and their kissing grows more intense. Mulder awkwardly slides over the console between the bucket seats as Krycek presses against the door; they recline on their sides facing each other, crushed into the passenger seat, trying to melt into each other in the warm summer night. Then Krycek pushes Mulder onto his back and rolls on top of him, straddling his hips, and begins thrusting deeply against him. The friction is exquisite, almost painful, and Mulder begins to groan in pleasure. He fears coming in his trousers, and then it's too late, he throws his head back and cries out, "Alex! Oh, Christ," before Krycek covers his mouth with his own again, and then he's coming, too, gasping into Mulder's neck, clinging to his collar as he sharply rocks his hips.

For many minutes they lie entwined. Mulder drifts and would sleep, but Krycek is too heavy and finally he wriggles to one side again. "Mulder," his husky whisper urges, "you have to get up. We can't spend the night here."

Mulder sighs luxuriously, and stretches. "I know. I'm not really here, anyway. You're not here, and this hasn't happened. Why are you here, anyway? You said Scully was in danger?" Suddenly Mulder is appalled at his behavior; how could he have forgotten Krycek's message? Why has his body betrayed him so profoundly? He sits up as best he can in the cramped space and puts both hands on Krycek's shoulders, feeling where the soft left shoulder muscle merges with the ungiving solidity of the prosthetic.

"Mulder, Mulder," Krycek shakes his head, "Just wait. I'll tell you everything I know. Here, drink your coffee."

"It's cold," but he awkwardly climbs back into the driver's seat and sips it anyway. "Go on."

"I've already told you, these are lighthouses, beacons set by the rebel force. . ."

"'Rebel force,' my ass. This isn't Star Wars."

"Goddammit! You've seen what they can do, you've seen the bodies. Scully was taken -- twice. You *know* this, Mulder; why won't you believe me?"

Mulder sighs. Why, indeed. He tries the coffee again, but it's even colder. He's uncomfortable; his boxers and trousers are sticky with the evidence of his unreasoning passion for a liar and a murderer. "Tell me," he whispers, "what's happening here?"

Krycek doesn't answer immediately, but appears to be studying his mouth. He slowly leans closer and gently nips at Mulder's lower lip, sucking it into his own mouth before releasing it to kiss him again. Mulder sighs expansively; it's as though some dreadful weight has been lifted from his chest and he can finally breathe deep cleansing breaths, breaths of Alex Krycek.

When they stop, Krycek keeps his face very close to Mulder's and whispers in return. "The aliens have been taking Connie for years. She knows things. Dangerous things. She's been given certain powers that enable her to draw other abductees."

"Abductees like Scully."

Krycek nods. "Like Scully. She's drawing Scully in, and she'll be called, too. They'll all be called."

"And burned, like the others."

Krycek frowns. "I don't know. I don't think so. But with all the changes it's hard to tell. But don't let Scully go, Mulder. Don't let them take her."

"How can I stop it? I can't be with her every minute of every day; she won't let me."

"That's your problem. Maybe Skinner can help. But while you're here, don't let her out of your sight."

"Jesus, Krycek. She's out of my sight right now! I'm making out with you, and she's in danger."

"No, not right now. I'd know. I could tell."

"How?" But Krycek doesn't answer. Won't answer. Just stares at Mulder. Mulder becomes aware of Krycek's physicality again, his beautiful eyes and sensual mouth, the planes of his face, his scent, the heat his body emits. He feels his heart slowing as if into a trance.

Krycek rolls near him. "I want you, Mulder. I want you to fuck me, I want to fuck you, and I'm going to come in your mouth in the next twenty-four hours. Remember that. I'll find you, and you'll suck me." Mulder can barely breathe, his heart rate has skyrocketed, he's panting, staring at Krycek in desperate desire. He nods his head.

"I'll suck you," he whispers.

"Swear."

"I swear --" but Krycek's mouth stops the words and suddenly Mulder's hard again. Krycek pinches his ass and gets out of the car, smiling triumphantly.

"Keep your promise and keep Scully safe. Keep yourself safe." Mulder nods and then Krycek slips away. He touches himself lightly, remembering the sensation of Krycek's hand on him, then goes back to his room.

* * *

Skinner is furious. From across the room, Mulder can see his jaw clench and his molars slide over each other. His dentist is probably putting her children through college on his TMJ. He maintains a calm exterior, but Mulder continues to watch the jawline just below his right ear. Mulder glances at Scully; she sees it, too. Time for all good agents to behave.

Skinner's anger is justified. He's stuck in Nowhere, Maryland, coordinating the investigation of an x-file that has incorporated two of his people. Some woman has appeared out of nowhere, brought here in a flaming wheel like an Old Testament prophet, like Ezekial, and his expert can't interrogate her because she's frightened of his clones she'd met on some spaceship. Skinner wants this case over and behind him, and his agents at their desks in DC. Chained to their desks in DC.

The agents in question sit quietly in an impromptu conference room created out of a breakroom. Card tables have been set up and an odd collection of chairs dragged in; about twenty people have been squeezed in for a briefing. Skinner and the local police lieutenant, a short black man named Bailey, are leading it. Mulder looks longingly at a candy machine behind him, but refrains from feeding it quarters.

"Quiet, people," the lieutenant demands and the scuffling decreases in volume. Sgt. Washington pulls out the chair next to Mulder, who scoots closer to Scully to make room. He hands Mulder a package of six Oreos; Mulder whispers, "I could kiss you," as he noisily unwraps the plastic, earning a glare from Skinner. He grimaces apologetically and thinks the AD's expression softens in response. But the lieutenant is off again.

"Goddammit, quiet!" Mulder stops unwrapping the plastic and sits frozen. Bailey might be shorter than Skinner, but his voice is just as loud.

"The sooner we get started, the sooner we can finish," he continues in his booming voice. "So let's get started. This is Assistant Director Walter Skinner of the FBI, here to coordinate the taskforce."

Skinner doesn't move, just looks around the room. "As you know, somehow yesterday afternoon, for two hours we lost contact with several of your officers and two of my agents. We're here to investigate how that could happen. We are interrogating witnesses, and need to widen the investigation. You'll be given maps of the area and assigned a region to comb. Talk to everyone, and I mean everyone. Essential questions are included with the maps, but they're obvious ones.

"And stay in touch. Check-ins will occur every thirty minutes." Some groans at this. "I know this will be a burden on you all. But any missed check-ins will result in a halt of all other activity until we can find you. Don't miss one. There's a schedule of your times, also included in the packet." He stares pointedly at Mulder and Scully; they know that look. It tells them not to move, so when the others rise to collect their packets, they remain seated. Sgt. Washington looks sympathetically at them as Skinner moves through the press of local police toward them.

"Agents, I don't want you participating in any further fieldwork." After Krycek's warning, Mulder isn't about to complain, but Skinner holds up a commanding hand as if he were going to. "No. I mean it, Mulder, don't even think about disobeying this order or I'll kick your butt but good." He stares sternly down at Mulder, who has a sudden vivid image of Skinner doing just that.

"Sir, what do you want us to do?" Scully's diplomatic gesture diverts Skinner's attention from Mulder and softens his face.

"Stay here. Work with the witnesses; you've already established rapport with them. Help me coordinate the investigation. And stay out of trouble." Scully blushes slightly at this last instruction, but Mulder simply finishes opening his package of Oreos and offers it to Skinner. After a brief hesitation, he pulls one out and studies it. "I haven't had one of these in years."

Mulder takes one and places the package near Scully. He neatly twists the Oreo into two halves and licks the icing. Skinner laughs and eats his in one bite. Scully rolls her eyes at the pissing contest in front of her.

* * *

"Sir?" Mulder hesitates at the door to the lieutenant's office where he and Skinner lean over a desk, examining a map, color coding it.

"Yes, Mulder?" Skinner never looks up.

"Sir, may I speak with you in private?" Now Skinner does look up, and he looks annoyed, but he follows Mulder into the hallway. "There's a vacant office down here, if you don't mind." Skinner silently follows him two doors down and steps into the office. Mulder closes the door behind him and tries to decide how to begin.

He decides to stay as close to the truth as he can. "I have an informant, sir, who tells me that Agent Scully is in danger. That whatever happened to Connie can happen to her."

"Who is this informant?"

"I can't tell you." Again, Mulder sees Skinner's fury and frustration at this case slip from behind his facade of professionalism; a sudden movement of Skinner's right hand makes him flinch. At some level, Mulder really believes that one day Skinner will strike him. He doesn't know if he longs for or dreads the arrival of that day. When Skinner doesn't speak, he continues. "I can't, for several reasons. But I believe him, sir, and I believe he's telling the truth about Scully. She's been taken twice before. I don't want her taken again." Mulder drops his eyes, afraid of revealing too much emotion.

Still silence. He looks at Skinner again, who is studying him carefully. Finally, Skinner nods. "All right. I'll accept that you have an informant and that you have good reason not to identify him. And I'll accept that you are genuinely concerned about Agent Scully. What do you want from me?"

"Your help, sir. I can't be with her twenty-four hours a day. Thank you for assigning us to interview the witnesses; that will keep us here at the station, so she'll be easier to watch. But if we're split up --"

"I'll help you, Mulder. I'm have a great deal of respect for Agent Scully. I don't want to lose her anymore than you do."

"Thank you, sir." Skinner stares deeply into Mulder's eyes; he feels pinned by that gaze. Skinner takes Mulder by the left elbow and gently shakes him, a frown creasing his face.

"You take care of yourself as well, Mulder. I meant what I said earlier. I don't want a recurrence of what happened yesterday. You're safer here than in the field. If the thought of running off even crosses your mind, come see me and we'll talk. I'll help you. Whatever you need, I'll help you. But don't you disobey this order."

Mulder swallows a little nervously, and nods.

* * *

In the mom and pop grocery down the street from the cop shop, Mulder's throwing bags of junk food, pre-made sandwiches, boxes of juice, dried fruit, and bottles of water into a rattly cart. He's stocking up; the machine vomit from the vending machines has become too much even for him. Scully's told him his gums are going to start bleeding if he doesn't eat some fruit, so he picks up a bag of apples and a bunch of bananas. He also tosses in a jar of One-A-Day vitamins; he's hoping to get on Scully's good side, so she won't be annoyed by his sticking so close to her.

In the corner where the cold remedies are kept, just below a large convex mirror, he notices a movement in a doorway that presumably leads to a storeroom. It's Krycek. Mulder's mouth goes dry; he remembers his promise from last night. Jesus, he can't expect me to fellate him here, in the middle of the day, can he?

He looks over his shoulder; no one seems to be paying him any attention. He leaves his cart and slips into the back room, looking around. He sees an open door leading to a toilet; that's disgusting, he thinks, and keeps looking. He walks deeper into the room and finds Krycek sitting in a lawn chair drinking a diet Pepsi. He looks absolutely at home.

He glances up at Mulder and smiles. He puts down the can, uncrosses his legs and spreads them, then undoes his pants and pulls out his penis. Without hesitation, Mulder kneels between his legs and opens his mouth. The sight and smell almost overwhelm him right there and then. He knows that what he's doing is incredibly stupid, even dangerous. If Scully discovers this, she'll never understand. If Skinner discovers this, he'll beat him half to death. If anyone else discovers this, he'll be ejected from the Bureau. But he lowers his head and sucks greedily, working his fingers inside the pants to stroke and pinch Krycek's balls while he sucks. It is the most exciting sex he's ever had. His knees hurt, he's dripping saliva, the corners of his mouth are scraped, and then his throat is filled with thick, warm, salty semen.

When Krycek pulls away, Mulder touches his own mouth. It feels swollen to him. Krycek leans forward and kisses him furiously. "You did good, Mulder," he whispers in his husky voice. "Next time it's your choice. What do you want me to do?"

"Fuck me," Mulder whispers back. Krycek kisses him again and leaves him, kneeling against the aluminum lawn chair, embarrassed and exhausted.

* * *

"What the hell happened to you?" Skinner demands. "Goddammit, Mulder, I *told* you not to get out of touch. Jesus Christ, I swear to god I'm going to put a goddam *leash* on you." Fortunately, there's no one around to hear, but Mulder still feels himself turn beet red.

"I just went to buy some food. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal, asshole, is I told you not to do something and you fucking went and did it anyway. I'm sick of this shit, Mulder. Once more and I'm sending you back to DC."

"Fuck you," Mulder replies without thinking, and is spun around and into the wall, knocking his head.

"Say that again," Skinner snarls.

Mulder closes his eyes. He *is* an asshole. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry. I'm tired, and I wanted something decent for Scully to eat, and I didn't think I'd be gone long enough for you to notice." Skinner holds him there for a few seconds longer and then releases him.

He sighs heavily. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I was way out of line."

"No, actually you weren't. I shouldn't have left without telling you." His heart jumps into his throat. "Scully -- is she . . ."

"She's fine. I've been with her the entire time. She's worried about you, of course. Mulder -- we thought you'd been taken."

Mulder is so tired. He can't remember when he last slept. Why does Krycek's presence make him so stupid? He's alienating his best friends, and for what? Some quick sex in dangerous places. Skinner should put him on a leash. For a moment, he considers telling Skinner the truth, who his informant is, but the desire to do so passes as quickly as it came.

Mulder looks straight into Skinner's eyes. "I'm sorry. I really won't do it again. But maybe you should send Scully and me back. She might be in less danger there, and you could focus better on the investigation."

He can see Skinner consider his proposal. He can see that he finds it attractive. Part of Mulder really wants to be sent home, in disgrace, as punishment for his behavior. Part of him wants Skinner to find him indispensable to the investigation. But he already knows that Skinner won't do either. He'll be kept on here, under Skinner's watchful eye, to complete the investigation he started. Neither disgraced nor indispensable, just a useful body to assist in the work.

"We'll discuss that option later, Mulder. Go see your partner, compare notes, and get back to work." He nods and heads toward the conference room. "Mulder." He turns back. Skinner is studying him thoughtfully, as if he could see something different about Mulder. "Who is your informant?" Mulder feels his face turn red yet again, but he doesn't speak. After a moment, Skinner nods his dismissal, and he heads off to find Scully.

* * *

"Scully, we can't go. Skinner's ordered us to stay here." Mulder doesn't want to hurt her, but he's running out of options. She is determined to leave.

"I *have* to go, Mulder, don't you understand?" Her face, so dear to him, is twisted in pain. "Please, Mulder, let me go, I have to go, I have to go *now*."

He shakes his head in frustration and gently touches her shoulder. She jerks away and starts to go around him. He blocks her. They've been doing this for ten minutes but it seems like an eternity to him. If only someone would come in, he could send them to Skinner for help.

She's slowly backing him to the door. They're in the hallway outside the breakroom that they've been using as a conference room. A few more yards and they'll be in the lobby, then outside. He doesn't want to embarrass his partner, but he's starting to think he should yell for help. No cell phones are working yet and he doesn't have a walkie-talkie.

"Please, Scully, listen to me. I know what's going on. I know they're calling you."

"Who, Mulder? Who do you think is calling me? I just need to get to the site, do some work there." She sounds so reasonable. "No one is calling me except my experience and my need to investigate this case. This is my case, too, Mulder."

"But Skinner --"

"Oh, Mulder, when was the last time you obeyed Skinner?" Well, that's certainly true. She pushes past him again, and again he tries to grab her. She twists away and now they are in the lobby. It's a little after three in the morning and there's not a soul around. Washington and Skinner are talking to two witnesses the police brought in an hour ago who claim to have seen the lights that preceded the loss of contact. Finally, he simply picks her up. She kicks and punches him, but he holds on and carries her back into the heart of the station, and into the long hallway leading to the cluster of interrogation rooms.

"Skinner!" he bellows and she flips in his arms. She pulls her legs out of his grip, drops them straight down, then jerks her knees into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He still hangs on to her, by her wrists now, as he bends over, trying to catch his breath. No way can he shout for help now. In frustration, he kicks the wall as hard as he can.

Suddenly, she's pulled out of his grasp and he falls against the wall. Skinner has her and she isn't going anywhere. Ross Washington is helping him to his feet, patting him on his back as he gasps for air.

"Let me go!" she insists to Skinner, but her gaze is unfocused. She looks drugged. Skinner hauls her into an office and dumps her into a chair, handcuffing her to the desk. She moans in frustration and begins to weep. Washington and Mulder watch.

Skinner turns to Mulder. "I need to know who your informant is. Why is this happening. What will they do to her. Can you get him?" Mulder shakes his head violently. "Mulder. She's your partner. She needs your help. Who is he?" When Mulder remains silent, Skinner looks at Washington, who leaves, carefully shutting the door behind him. Mulder is suddenly frightened.

Skinner walks up to Mulder and invades his personal space, pushing him against the wall behind him. Even though Mulder is taller, he is intimidated by Skinner's presence. Skinner stands there a moment, and then puts his enormous hand around Mulder's throat, loosely collaring it; he threateningly pushes his body against Mulder's. "It's Alex Krycek, isn't it." Mulder's lips part in surprise, and Skinner raises his hand so it lifts Mulder's chip, tilting his head back against the wall. "Is he fucking you?"

Mulder's eyes open wide in shock, but he never considers lying. "Yessir," he whispers. Skinner nods.

"What should I do, Mulder?" The two men stare at each other; Mulder realizes that he's getting hard. What a sick fuck he is; first on a dirty floor with Krycek's dick in his mouth, now in front of Scully with Skinner's hand around his throat.

"I don't know. You decide," he whispers. Skinner nods again, and releases Mulder, who rubs his throat.

"You don't leave my side until we're home in DC, Mulder. Do you understand? Until then, we're joined at the hip." Mulder nods. "Not good enough, Agent. Tell me."

"I won't leave your side, sir." Skinner continues to stare at him, and Mulder knows he felt his erection against him. Finally, Skinner releases him from his gaze and turns back to Scully. He opens the door and calls for Washington.

"We're staying here, with her. Bring us some bottled water and a few sandwiches. If you can get a doctor here, do so." Washington rushes off. Skinner looks at Mulder again. "Sit over there," and he points at a corner near Scully. "Stay right next to her." Mulder obediently sits on the floor, his back to the wall. He tries to take Scully's free hand but she won't have it. Her face is flushed and wet with tears, her nose and mouth shiny with snot. He feels completely lost.

* * *

By five in the morning, Scully is frantic, pulling at her handcuffed wrist, holding it with her opposite hand. Her voice is hoarse with pleading, shouting, threatening, begging, crying. Mulder is near tears himself, and he sees that Skinner is close to the edge of some powerful emotion as well.

He takes another sip of bottled water, then drops it as the room is flooded with a brilliant, blinding light. It's happening again -- he's blind and deaf and mute. He can't feel the floor beneath him or the wall behind him. He is utterly lost, free-falling through the universe. He is alone.

There is another flash and suddenly he can see again, although through a scrim of afterimages. He sees Skinner standing in the room, head thrown back, staring at the ceiling. Scully is gone.

He screams, but he can't hear himself. Skinner never moves but remains transfixed by whatever he sees on the ceiling of the room. He screams Scully's name, Skinner's, Krycek's, his sister's, until his throat is raw, but he hears nothing. He is locked in some silent hell of non-being.

There is a third flash and he's returned to the white abyss he remembers from his first morning here. He's cold, yet without a body. He is pure mind, stretched across a galaxy of icy stars. He feels tugged by gravity wells and tousled by cosmic winds.

Then he is back in the room, in his body, and Skinner has collapsed on the floor. He crawls to his supervisor and puts his arm around his shoulders. Skinner looks up at him, pale and wide-eyed. "Jesus Christ, Fox; is that what it's like?" he asks, but Mulder doesn't know what he means. There's a noise behind them, and the two men look at the door. Scully stands there.

* * *

The three federal agents are now under investigation themselves, along with the others in the police station caught up in the light. Skinner is quietly furious, and Mulder is glad his fury is for once directed at someone other than himself. Skinner isn't used to having his word doubted.

A herd of federal agents has descended on this tiny town, an alphabet soup of agencies now interested in the strange occurrences of the last few days. That an Assistant Director of the FBI was also among the missing for several hours has significantly notched up the pressure to develop an explanation. Neither Skinner, Scully, nor Mulder is permitted to leave the police station, nor even to go to the bathroom by themselves; they are under constant surveillance. Although what good that surveillance would do if whatever happened occurs again, Mulder cannot imagine. If he and Skinner couldn't protect Scully, no one can. No one.

He knows that's what's distressing Skinner, even more than being continually questioned. Both men keep their eyes on Scully, although for once she isn't insisting that she's fine. Of the three, she seems the least disturbed by the attention. Mulder wants to speak with her privately, or at least with only Skinner present, but he doesn't know when that will be possible again. Sometimes he feels they will never be permitted to leave.

Mulder wonders whether he treats the people he interrogates as thoughtlessly, as unkindly, as he's been treated. He's been told nothing, but has inferred that Connie has disappeared as mysteriously as she had appeared. Her fingerprints are being run, but so far he hasn't been able to learn whether there's been a match.

At least he and Skinner have been permitted to remain together. In his professional opinion, an error, but one he is grateful for. They haven't discussed in any detail what happened, but Mulder can tell that Skinner is profoundly unnerved. This is not the same man who threatened to leash him. He even seems smaller, frailer; Mulder feels he has been given a glimpse into the future and can see Skinner as an elderly man, confused by events surpassing him. He doesn't like or desire this vision; he realizes that he relies on Skinner's imperial manner.

Mulder himself feels numb. He hasn't permitted himself to dwell on what occurred. It is too overwhelming to contemplate.

Scully, however, is even more of her usual self. She too has been transformed by the experience. She exchanges knowing looks with him; she sees beyond him.

And where is Krycek, he wonders.

As the hours pass and no more evidence is forthcoming, Mulder begins to hope he will see his ratty apartment once again. Everyone's story is exactly the same; there are no discrepancies. The lights came; time stopped; the lights went; time began again. The fact that the time between the lights appearing and disappearing *seemed* to be a matter of minutes when the outside world agrees that it was several hours is of no consequence to those who experienced the lights. The lights came, the lights went. There is nothing more to say.

Mulder knows, from his long study of alien abduction accounts, exactly the sequence of events. He can cite them from memory, and now from personal experience: abductions typically last one to two hours; frequently, abductees have a premonition that something strange will happen; there is missing time; a loss of memory; floating sensations. What they've experienced is textbook, classic, right out of the UFO Journal published by MUFON.

He takes little comfort in that knowledge; the difference between his academic knowledge and actual experience is too vast. He remembers the white emptiness, the enormity of his solitude, his inability to communicate. The experience has left him grateful for his friends in a way he may never be able to articulate, but he feels confident they share that gratitude and desire for companionship. He is, they are, changed: utterly different than who they were a few hours ago.

Skinner puts his hand on Mulder's arm. He has forgiven Mulder his earlier trespasses, Mulder understands. They sit together, very close; Scully's at a table, patiently answering questions. Mulder thinks her current examiner is from the NSA, but he isn't sure. It doesn't matter. Scully turns her head and looks at them over her shoulder, her red-gold hair falling across one eye. She is beautiful, calm, certain. She turns back to her interrogator.

"No, I didn't hear anything. It was as though I were deafened by something. No, I don't think it was a percussion grenade, but forensics will tell. I don't know how I got out of the handcuffs. I remember feeling off, a little sick to my stomach, but I don't remember fighting Agent Mulder. I don't remember AD Skinner handcuffing me to the desk. No, I don't remember." She continues reiterating this theme: I don't remember. No one remembers.

Mulder tilts his head back and studies the ceiling. Skinner, unsurprisingly, doesn't remember what he was staring at; Mulder has quietly asked him, unwilling to share that with the various feds sent to ferret out the answers. He remembers Mulder staring at the ceiling as well, another memory Mulder has lost. They sit companionably in silence, patiently waiting their turn.

To their surprise, this was the last of the interrogations. After almost twenty hours of questioning, the many agencies have independently arrived at the same conclusion: nothing happened. Just some local yokels yanking the feds' chains and some naive investigators falling for it. They are quietly despised by the others. Connie's name, whoever Connie may be, is left out of all official reports. After all, she's gone. She appeared, she disappeared. She's no one, she doesn't exist. Very likely, she never existed. Skinner has been permitted to see the report he will submit; it's less than a page long.

The newspapers report some weather balloon activity over the area; Entertainment Tonight says there were military exercises involving lasers; the local television station says there were flares shot off by hunters. It doesn't matter what is said, Mulder understands; in a few days, it will be forgotten by all but the participants.

When the alphabet agencies have dissipated, Skinner, Scully, and Mulder are finally permitted to step outside. It's night again. Ross Washington and his lieutenant, Bailey, stand with them, breathing the hot humid air. All five lift their heads to look at the stars. They are distant, silent, cold. Is anyone there? Mulder wonders. Do they know me? Have they cloned me? Is there some larger plan we're part of, or is this just another case that will appear in the UFO Journal next month, Log #99116cD, to be read with mild interest and ultimately forgotten?

Finally, Lieutenant Bailey shakes their hands and returns to work. Washington stands with them a few minutes more, wishing them luck. Scully hugs him and he holds her tightly, dwarfing her in his embrace. "Take care, there, little girl," he tells her. Mulder has to smile; not many men can call Scully "little girl" and live. He shakes Mulder's hand with both of his, and slaps Skinner on the back. "You've got good people, sir," he tells him. "It was a pleasure working with them." Skinner nods silently.

At last, the three are alone. The bureau car Skinner brought has been taken by other agents; they will all drive back to DC in Mulder's car. Mulder automatically hands the keys to Skinner, who stares at them for a second and then smiles. "Are you awake enough to drive, Mulder?"

"Yessir."

"Well, then," and Skinner climbs into the passenger seat, Scully into the back seat. Mulder is starting to feel a little better, and they begin the drive home.

* * *

Thirty or forty minutes out of Gum Springs, Mulder turns to his boss and says softly, "I need to talk if I'm not going to fall asleep." Skinner nods and glances into the backseat.

"Quietly, though. Scully's finally sleeping."

For a few seconds there is only silence, and then Mulder asks, "What do you remember?"

In the dim light from the car's dashboard, he can see Skinner's jaw clench. He takes a deep breath and looks briefly at Mulder, then away. He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes. Mulder recognizes this habit; Skinner seems to be able to discuss personal issues more easily when his glasses are in his hands. Perhaps they represent distancing and professionalism.

Finally he says, "Not much. I felt -- compelled. I remember the light was around me, and then it was in me. That sounds stupid," he adds in a rush.

"No, no it doesn't. What else?"

Skinner pauses, then shakes his head. "It isn't real. It isn't *possible.*"

"Dammit, don't tell me it isn't possible; I was there."

Another pause, then a heavy sigh. "There was a light. A buzzing sound, and then nothing. No more sounds -- it was as though all my senses were sensing light, as if I could taste and hear and smell and touch light." He jerks his head as if to shake off the memory, then rolls into the headrest. "Oh, god, Mulder, I was *floating* in light."

Mulder is nodding before he finishes. "Me, too. That's exactly what happened."

Skinner looks at him sharply. "How long did the experience last for you?"

"Minutes."

Another silence, and then more tentatively: "Was there anybody else with you?"

Mulder's study of alien abductions tells him what Skinner's question means, and it frightens him. He glances away from the road, to see Skinner staring straight ahead. His eyes are wide, as if seeing something other than the road ahead of them. He is breathing shallowly, and his hands twist in his lap.

"Who did you see?"

"Not who. What. And I didn't. See anyone, anything; just light. But I felt --" Skinner stops abruptly. In a different tone of voice, he says, "I can't do this, Mulder. I can't accept this experience. I can't integrate it."

Mulder lets the silence and road slip by, then asks again, "Who did you see?"

Skinner rubs his face and takes a deep breath. "No one. But, I felt --" Again he stops, then whispers urgently, "I'm not supposed to tell. But *something* was there. They were *there* , Mulder."

Scully stirs and both men glance back at her. When she remains asleep, they exchange looks.

"I know, sir. I think it's okay to tell me, though. I saw them, too." Except he didn't, not really see them, but he knew they were there, too. Whoever, whatever, wherever.

"None of this goes in your report, Mulder."

"No. But we should talk again. And to Scully. We need to resolve this experience. As you say, to integrate it."

Skinner doesn't respond. After a few more minutes, he begins discussing Michael Jordan's retirement and what his absence means to the NBA. He rests his hand on the console between them, and Mulder has a vivid kinesthetic memory of crawling over that console to get to Krycek. He and Krycek had lain where Skinner sits now. Mulder twists in his own car seat, aroused at the memory. He remembers that Krycek promised him that the next encounter would be his choice. His respiration quickens. He wants, he wants. His need is dark and powerful and all encompassing.

* * *

In the Bureau garage, Mulder follows Skinner's directions and drops him at his car. He sits for a moment, then motions for Mulder to get out as well. The two men stand in the dark garage, and then Skinner clears his throat.

"I said some things to you in the last few days, Agent Mulder, that were inappropriate. I threatened you with physical violence. I questioned you about your personal life. I spoke to you with disrespect. I apologize for my behavior."

Mulder's shaking his head before Skinner can finish. "No sir, you weren't inappropriate; I was. I should have trusted you with the information earlier. You might have believed me sooner."

"Mulder, do you really think that if you'd come to me any sooner we could have stopped what happened?"

Well, no, actually, he doesn't, but he doesn't like to hear Skinner say that, either. He remains silent, trapped.

Skinner finally says, "Accept my apologies, Mulder. But be careful. Understand that my anger is an indication of how much I care about you and Scully. Care for you."

Mulder slowly reaches out and touches Skinner's upper arm, a gesture he doesn't understand himself. He lets his hand lie against the material of his coat jacket for a moment. Skinner nods, as if in agreement. "Take care of yourself," he says again, and then pulls his keys out of his pocket. Mulder climbs back into his car and steers out of the garage, heading toward Scully's apartment.

As he drives, he reviews what's happened between himself and Krycek and between himself and Skinner. Something new. He's having sex with a felon; that's interesting. And his boss is jealous; that's even more interesting. Scully sleeps on, oblivious to Mulder's confusion. For a moment he considers not telling her, but the experience of not being able to speak has persuaded him that he must speak when he can. He'll take Scully home and spend the night on her couch. Tomorrow, he'll confess. She'll be angry and hurt, but she'll forgive him. She must forgive him. And then she'll help him figure out what to do next. She will help him resolve to some truth, about the abduction, about Krycek, about Skinner. She is his resolution.

* * *

Mulder is finally asleep on Scully's couch, wrapped in the afghan her mother made her, when a knock wakes him. Rubbing his face, he sits up and drapes the afghan around him, then walks to the door in time for another quick tap. Peering through the peephole, he sees Skinner, who doesn't look at all surprised when Mulder opens the door.

"I thought you might be here," Skinner says. "I stopped by your place first."

Gesturing for him to come in, Mulder whispers, "Scully's asleep. What's up?"

Skinner shakes his head and raises his hands as if in plea. "I don't *know*, Mulder. That's what's up. I don't know."

Hitching the afghan more securely around his shoulders, Mulder leads the way to Scully's kitchen. He starts rummaging through her cupboards as Skinner closes the door behind them and seats himself at her kitchen table. "I know Scully drinks tea. Here -- you want chamomile or Earl Grey?"

"Give me a break."

"Okay, Earl Grey it is." He fills a kettle with water and starts heating it, puts two bags in Scully's blue tea pot, and pulls down two, then three mugs. She'll be up in a few minutes, he has no doubt.

When he has organized the unexpected tea party, he sits across from Skinner, who is rubbing his eyes. "Through the looking glass, hunh." Skinner nods. His eyes are deeply bloodshot. "Did you sleep at all?"

"I tried. But I keep seeing the light. Mulder, they could come anytime, anywhere. While I'm in bed, in my car, at the job. Hell, they could come for me at work, in the Hoover."

Mulder doesn't embarrass Skinner by asking who "they" are. There is no answer. Skinner's looking at him very intently; it's obvious that he wants to ask him something, but it's equally obvious that he finds the question distasteful. Skinner's hands are twisting together on the table. Mulder remembers their frantic motion from last night in the car. He puts one of his hands on Skinner's, and Skinner seizes it gratefully. "How do you live with this?" he finally asks.

Mulder looks away for a minute and sighs deeply. Scully answers him, standing in her nightgown at the door.

"We risk our lives every day, sir. Not simply as federal agents, but walking across a street, driving across a bridge. We either continue these activities or retreat into agoraphobia and paranoia."

Skinner's shaking his head again; Mulder puts both his hands over his. "She's right, sir. You've told me that yourself. We're in danger every day."

"Not like this. Nothing like this. Scully, when they brought you back the first time --"

Scully sits next to him and also places her hands on his and Mulder's. The three sit entwined in their fear and comfort. "I had Mulder, sir, and you have us. If they come again, if you're taken, we'll never stop looking for you. Never."

She looks at Mulder. "I've spent over twenty years looking for Samantha, sir. I'll spend twice that looking for you if I have to." Skinner's hands finally relax into theirs.

"I never wanted this to happen," Skinner says after a long silence. The kettle begins to vibrate urgently on the stove, so Mulder squeezes his hands, then gets up to make tea. Skinner continues in a more confident voice. "All those reports of yours. I read them. I even read books on aliens, on abductions, on Area 51. I'm not ignorant about the subject; I'm not innocent. But -- I didn't *know*."

Mulder sets the mugs in front of Scully and Skinner, along with spoons and a jar of honey. He sits again, and searches for something comforting to offer Skinner in his misery.

"Have you read John Mack's book on abductions?" Skinner nods. "Remember what he says at the end. That the experience has to do with a paradigm shift, from a consciousness-centered worldview to one of loving interconnectedness. That it offers visions of alternate futures."

Skinner looks at him shrewdly. "You don't believe that. You believe it's part of a global conspiracy, to enslave humanity. I've come to believe that as well," he adds, almost to himself.

Scully's face reflects her sorrow at hearing his last words. She rubs his shoulder comfortingly, as Mulder says, "Yes. I believe that is part of what's happening here and now. But only part. We're so -- so *local*."

Skinner laughs. "A global conspiracy is local?"

"Yes," Mulder insists, "in terms of the universe, or even just the galaxy, it's local. Petty. Picayune. There are other forces at work."

"How do I know which is which? Is what happened to me good or bad?" His face is drawn in pain, and Mulder must answer honestly.

"The experience hurt you. It's bad. I'm sorry."

Skinner turns to Scully. "What happened to you -- was it good or bad?"

Scully studies him, continuing to stroke his back and shoulder. Finally she says, to him and to Mulder, "Both. What happened to me was terrible, unforgivable. My body was used, against my will, against me. But the experience taught me so much. To trust in my partner." Mulder smiles at her gratefully. "That larger forces *are* at work. That these forces are in contention with each other. That what we do matters. And that all we have, in the end, are our actions and each other."

Skinner sighs and drinks his tea. They sit in silence for many minutes. Finally he says, very shyly, "May I sleep here? I'm so tired, and I don't want to be alone."

Mulder stands up, gesturing for Scully to remain seated. "I'll pull out the sofa." Scully and Skinner follow him into the living room and watch; Scully fetches blankets and pillows. Skinner sits heavily on the sofa bed, then stands again to embrace Scully.

"Thank you," he whispers. "Go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you."

"That's okay. I'm glad you came over." She hugs him back, and hugs Mulder, then returns to her bedroom. Mulder closes the blinds more tightly as Skinner crawls into bed.

"Where will you sleep, Mulder?"

"I'll go home now."

Skinner stares at him and then flips down the covers. "No. Don't go. You shouldn't be alone, either. I used to share a bed with my kid brother; it's okay." After a few seconds hesitation, Mulder throws the afghan over the arm of a chair and climbs in.

"This is weird," he comments, trying to get comfortable.

"No shit," Skinner agrees, and then sighs.

* * *

Mulder is awakened again by Skinner's knocking. This time he's flailing at the end table next to the sofa, moaning. Scully races into the room, gun drawn. The two agents try to wake their supervisor, who begins to cry out, "No! No!" Mulder shakes him harder, and his eyes fly open in alarm. "Oh, god," he gasps, shuddering. "They were here; they were *here.*"

"No, no," Mulder soothes him, and Scully brings him a glass of water. When he's downed it, he begins to apologize.

Scully interrupts him. "Come with me. Both of you," she instructs, and disappears into her room. "Come *on*." Shy in their tee shirts, boxers, and briefs, the two men hesitantly enter her bedroom. "You," she points at Skinner, "in the middle." She climbs in one side of her bed and raises an eyebrow at Mulder. He climbs in next to Skinner. The bed is a king, but it's still crowded. But after the fear and nightmares, it's wonderfully comforting. Mulder feels at home.

* * *

Scully lies in her bed, trying not to fall out. Both Skinner and Mulder are big men, and in their sleep have sprawled out. She's trying to remember what happened. She clearly remembers talking to Connie, but then events become confused. She thinks she left Connie's interrogation room to go to the ladies room. She doesn't remember actually arriving there. The next thing she can remember is standing in Mulder's and Skinner's arms, with no notion of how she got there. In between, she thinks she remembers light. Icy silence. Pain. She hasn't told anyone, but she thinks a small indentation near her navel is new. It itches. She's afraid.

Skinner turns restlessly and pushes her closer to the edge. She gives up the battle and gets out of bed. Pulling another blanket from the closet, she sits in a plush easy chair, puts her feet on the bed, and drapes the blanket over herself. Skinner twists again, this time moving to face Mulder. Both men snore slightly. She finds that comforting. She sleeps.

* * *

Skinner wakes up in a strange bed with Mulder next to him and Scully's feet at his knees. For a instant he's at peace and then his fragmented memories come crashing down on him like shards of a broken mirror. He closes his eyes, but sleep has never been farther off. He feels agitated, as if buzzed on caffeine or speed. He wants to wake both his agents and shout at them, bully them into doing something about what's happened, although he has no idea what that something might be. He wants to slap Mulder black and blue and fuck Scully senseless. He wants them to save him. He doesn't know what he wants.

Quietly and carefully, he crawls out of the bed and slips into the living room, where he dresses. He's going to go home, shower the filth of his memories off him, and go to work as if nothing has happened. Because Scully is right; the only alternative is to retreat into agoraphobia and paranoia, and he isn't going to do that. He debates leaving them a note, but decides they'll figure it out. They're trained investigators. They're his people. He succumbs to the urge to peer in at them once last time; still asleep. Scully's neck is going to kill her today, torqued into that uncomfortable position, but in her sleep, she's oblivious to the discomfort. For a heartbeat he considers returning to the bed, to them, but he shakes his head and silently leaves.

Since those in authority above him have decided that whatever happened in Gum Springs didn't happen, he is free to decide that last night didn't happen.

* * *

"So, you're sleeping with Skinner now." The low husky voice is right at his ear as he stands in line to pay for his Chinese take-out. A hand touches his back and slips down to pat his ass.

"Jesus, Krycek," he whispers. "Can you be any more obvious?"

The only answer is the hand slipping to the front of his pants, so he takes a quick step away in embarrassment. Krycek is smiling at him, fondly and lasciviously. He quickly pays the cashier and leads the way to his car. Krycek takes the plastic bag with the containers and gets into the passenger seat. As they drive off, he says again, "Sleeping with your boss?"

"Is better than sleeping with my enemy."

"Am I your enemy?" Mulder doesn't have a catchy response to that. They drive in silence until he parks.

"Are you coming up?"

"I don't think that would be wise. But I wanted to remind you of my promise." Mulder needs no reminding. That's how he gets to sleep each night, remembering Krycek's words to him and his response to those words. "Do you still want me to fuck you?" Mulder closes his eyes, and nods. "Then the next time I see you I will." He leans over and Mulder finds himself leaning towards him, mouth already open for a kiss. He wants Krycek so powerfully. Kissing him isn't enough.

"Come up. Please, Alex, come up with me." Krycek shakes his head.

"I can't. But I will, I promise. I'll never break a promise to you, Mulder." He starts to open the car door.

"Wait." Surprisingly, he obeys and returns to the seat. "I need more. I need something."

Alex looks at him intently, then slides close to him. He puts his arm across Mulder's chest in an embrace, then slips his hand down and cups his erection, squeezing him. He puts his mouth on Mulder's cheek and kisses his way to his ear, licking it and biting the lobe. Mulder shivers. "The next time I see you, Mulder, no matter where, no matter when, you'll come with me. I'll watch you as you undo your pants and pull them down. You'll have forgotten to take off your shoes, so you'll have to kick them off and then pull off your pants. Then you'll take off your briefs. I'll be watching, waiting.

"Can you imagine that, Mulder? Undressing for me? Me watching you? In the basement of the Hoover, at the gym, in some men's room? Can you?" Mulder's so hard now; he begins shifting in his seat, trying to rub against Krycek's hand. "Open your pants." He obeys instantly, even though they're on the street, under a light. Krycek's hand slips into his trousers and through the fly of his boxers, wraps around his aching dick, and pulls. "Don't come, Mulder. Not now." He gasps in arousal and pain, rolling his pelvis forward.

"Please," he whispers, and Krycek squeezes harder.

"No. I said no and I meant no. Not until I tell you." Mulder drops his head back against the carseat and rolls it from side to side, breathing in enormous gasps. Krycek's voice deepens even more, and he says, "Do you want me to punish you, Mulder?"

"Yes!" He comes in Krycek's hand, semen soaking into his boxers, his trousers, his shirt, even his suit jacket. He seizes Krycek's hand where it covers his slick penis and holds it still. Krycek laughs and sticks his tongue in his ear again.

"Tell me you're a slut."

"I'm a slut," he whispers and then kisses Krycek as he's never kissed anyone. He is a slut. He is. He wants anything Krycek will give him; he wants everything. Krycek returns the kiss with enthusiasm, pulls away, and slaps Mulder's face with his semen-covered hand. Mulder gasps in shock, then kisses that hand, sucking in the index finger and biting it gently.

"Put your clothes together, Agent Mulder, before you're picked up for exposing yourself in public." Mulder can't understand how arousal and humiliation can be so closely entwined; he's ashamed; he desires punishment; he desires Krycek.

Krycek deliberately wipes his hand across Mulder's suit jacket, then licks the semen from his face where he struck him, slipping his tongue into Mulder's mouth. He starts to leave, and Mulder stops him again.

"Alex. What happened to you in Gum Springs?"

Krycek stares at Mulder, then drops his eyes. Mulder takes his hand, still damp and sticky, and threads his fingers through Krycek's. They sit, holding hands, for several minutes. Finally, Krycek says, "I think the same thing that happened to you. I've read the reports on you, Scully, and Skinner, and they match. The lights, the time. The absence." Mulder's nodding. Krycek meets his eyes again. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I thought you'd be safe there; I thought the danger would be at the location where the car had been. I wanted you safe."

"Are *you* safe?"

Krycek smiles ruefully and shakes his head. "None of us is safe anymore."

"Why is this happening?"

Krycek rolls his head back into the seat and closes his eyes briefly. When he answers, his voice is deeper than usual, softer. "I'm not sure. There are humans involved, I know that; they've been directly involved for over fifty years. But theirs is not the only agenda. And I know --" he looks at Mulder through lowered eyelashes, gauging his reaction. "I know there are many kinds of aliens. Many species visiting us. Interested in us. Some are physical beings, but some are . . . different. Other. Non-ordinary." He smiles, without humor. "High strangeness, Mulder. It's all around; only some are permitted or choose to see it."

"Are you afraid?"

"Of aliens? No. I'm afraid of humans. They're the true evil, Mulder. Remember that: Only humans will hurt you."

"But those aliens who burned people at Skyland Mountain, in Pennsylvania . . . "

"Because humans interfered. It's always the humans, Mulder. Look at me." Mulder obediently gazes directly into Krycek's eyes. "Hear me, Agent Mulder. Trust no one. Scully and Skinner, most of the time. Me, some of the time. No one else. Not even your mother."

Mulder's lips part in shock and distress, but not in surprise. At some level, he's always known that. He continues to stare at Krycek, and reaches out to stroke his cheek and jaw, scratchy with his evening beard. Krycek kisses his fingers, leaning into the caress.

"Stay," Mulder whispers for the third time. Third time's a charm, he tells himself, but Krycek shakes his head again, and slips out of the car. "Goodbye," Mulder murmurs to himself. "Goodbye."

* * *

"The alien dares us to take a stand, to hold a position, to accept or reject it. Confrontation with a story of flying saucers or alien abduction pushes us to one side or another: Is it real? Do we believe? The alien seduces us into a critical reassessment of our criteria for truth: How do we determine what real is? Why do we believe? The claim to truth and its challenge to our practices for establishing it are what enable the alien to function as an icon of postmodern anxieties." --Jodi Dean, _Aliens in America_

**Author's Note:**

> The description of the UFO comes from MUFON Log #971116dC, reported in the January 1998 UFO Journal. The description of the abduction as experienced by Mulder, Scully, and Skinner is adapted from "A Comparison of Abduction Reports" by Thomas E. Bullard in the June 1998 UFO Journal; from John Mack's _Abduction_ (NY: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1994); and from _Alien Discussions: Proceedings of the Abduction Study Conference_ (Cambridge, MA: North Cambridge Press, 1994), by Andrea Pritchard, et al.


End file.
